


Forged

by Astronut



Category: Star Wars Legends: Fate of the Jedi Series - Aaron Allston & Troy Denning & Christie Golden, Star Wars Legends: X-Wing Series - Aaron Allston & Michael Stackpole
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:01:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23722774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astronut/pseuds/Astronut
Summary: Set during the Fate of the Jedi series.With his children displaying symptoms of a strange illness, Corran is forced to face an old secret that could shatter his family.
Relationships: Corran Horn/Lujayne Forge, Corran Horn/Mirax Terrik
Kudos: 8





	1. Prologue - Old Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do not repost without permission. 
> 
> Based on a name mentioned in Outcast.

Prologue – Old Friends

Wedge sat on the Horn’s sofa and gazed out the viewport, the very same viewport that Valin Horn had shattered weeks earlier in his desperate bid to escape after attacking his parents. No one knew why Valin suddenly believed that everyone he had ever loved were now mere impostors, but his sister Jysella had now exhibited the exact same symptoms. For their own safety as well as that of everyone around them, they had been frozen carbonite and entombed in one of the Galactic Alliance’s many detention centers on Coruscant until the medtechs or the Jedi could cure them of whatever psychosis had befallen them. 

Valin and Jysella’s mother, Wedge’s lifelong friend, was currently curled up into his side, her head buried into his shoulder as she wet his tunic with a constant stream of tears and halting sobs. Running a soothing hand along her head, he wrapped her shoulders in his other arm, trying to comfort her. 

“They made us report for tests.” Wedge’s chest muffled Mirax’s raspy voice as she spoke between sobs. “They poked and prodded and took samples like _we_ were the ones that made them this way.” 

“I’m sure they didn’t mean it like that,” Wedge offered softly as he rubbed her back. “Master Cilghal is just ruling out all possibilities. She’ll help them, I know it.” 

“Not if that evil dried-up hag Daala has any say in it,” Mirax spat, surfacing to grab another tissue. “She locked my babies away, without even letting me say goodbye. I can’t even touch them or comfort them. What if they can feel I’m not there?”

“I don’t know Mirax, I don’t know.” He lifted her chin and pushed her dark, now graying hair out of her face so he could look her in the eyes. “I’m not an expert in the Force by any means, but judging by how bad Valin reacted to the thought of you being replaced, I’m sure they both love you very much and understand that you’re doing all you can to help them.” 

A ghost of a smile crossed Mirax’s lips briefly before she bent away to blow her nose. “Tell Iella that Winter and I missed her on these last few runs.” 

“These would be your shopping runs?” Wedge asked playfully. 

“Yes, shopping,” Mirax replied, elbowing him lightly in the ribs. Wedge had been in tactics for too long not to know that Mirax was referring to some rather illicit activities she and Winter were involved in to help the Horn children. Jag, Wedge’s nephew, had even approached him, seeking advice on how one, hypothetically, could avoid holoreporters and other sludge news fiends, meaning that Jaina and Jag were mostly likely involved with the Horn debacle as well. Wedge only wished that he could do more to help than provide a shoulder to cry on, but Daala and her staff would not take the involvement of a former General of the Galactic Alliance and former Admiral of the Confederation lightly. 

“Wedge,” Mirax interrupted his thoughts, once again looking upset. “What if it is genetic? What if this is something Corran or I gave them?”

“Then I’m sure the medtechs will find it and fix it,” he said firmly, giving her an equally firm hug. Mirax lingered in the embrace, seeming to take comfort and strength from her old friend, but Wedge’s mind drifted once more. If this was genetic, then there was a whole other problem brewing. And he was going to have to hurt his old friend very, very badly…


	2. Chapter One - Old Secrets

Chapter One – Old Secrets

The Jedi Temple was quite as the sunlight crested Coruscant’s skyline. Students who’d usually be up with the sun drilling or meditating were instead on sentry duty or in their bunks, sleeping off a long night. A few had been dispatched home to their families, in hopes that their presence in their home communities would calm fears of Jedi on the rampage. During the Vong War, the Jedi had learned it was harder to hate someone you knew than some faceless organization known sequestering themselves on a distant planet. Or at least, they had mostly learned. The Jedi still tended to be solitary and unapproachable. Despite his long years of association, Wedge still felt slightly uncomfortable entering their domain, especially now that Luke had been exiled. 

Shifting his weight, Wedge clasped his hands and tried to keep from fidgeting. While a young apprentice had led Wedge to the small garden immediately upon his arrival, Master Corran Horn apparently had other pressing concerns that forced him to keep his old friend waiting. When he could stand still no longer, Wedge opted to take the dignified approach and began to casually meander about the garden, pretending to examine the various botanical samples. 

Finally, the door slid open silently on its repulsorlifts, admitting a fit graying man with a goatee. Much to Wedge’s surprise, Corran was dressed in an old New Republic officer’s uniform without rank tabs instead of the Jedi robes he had favored since officially joining the Order. Wedge crossed the grassy area to meet his friend with a back-slapping handshake and smile. “I’m surprised you still fit into that uniform,” Wedge remarked as they pulled apart. “I figured with Mirax’s ryshcate recipe, you’d need it tailored by now.” 

Corran’s mouth drew into a sad smile. “There’s not been much to celebrate of late.” 

Wedge nodded solemnly. “I know and I’m sorry. I already told Mirax, if there’s anything I can do...” Wedge cleared his throat and added, “I can’t even begin to imagine if it were my girls.” 

“You’d be the first we’d call.” The smile fell from Corran’s face and a darker look took its place. “It’s just there’s nothing any of us can do. I sit and I wait and I try to meditate and speak with Master Hamner and the Council but nothing comes from it! I watch as the politicians play their little games with my children’s lives as the medics that could save them stand helplessly by, guessing at the problem because they can’t even begin to examine their patients. Did Mirax tell you they think it’s genetic? That Cilghal had us brought in for testing like were just another one of her experiments?” 

“Corran, you know that Cilghal cares. She’s your friend and she’s trying to help you the best she can,” Wedge replied. 

Corran took a deep breath and let it out slowly, his composure returning. “I’m sorry about that, Wedge. You came all the way out here to see me and I end up trying to take your head off for something you didn’t do. You’re going to start thinking I’m a young self-centered new recruit again.” 

“No,” Wedge said, giving Corran an evaluating glance. “You could never be mistaken for young.” Corran’s laugh was small and forced, but Wedge suspected it had been a while since he had even managed that much. Wedge sighed. This was neither the best time nor place for this, but it needed to be done. “Actually, those younger, brasher days were what I wanted to speak to you about.” 

“Thinking of hosting a Rogue reunion, are you?” Corran teased as he led Wedge to a pair of float chairs tucked discretely behind a short hedge of flowering bushes. “Don’t forget that roast tauntaun Wes had catered to our last get-together.” 

Wedge grimaced as he sat, his knees popping with an audible crack. “I still have nightmares about it. Actually, I can’t blame Janson for that one; that particular caper was the product of the diabolical mind of one Tycho Celchu.” 

Corran blinked in surprise. “Really? I never knew that.” 

“There are a lot of things you don’t know,” Wedge said, trying to keep his voice light. “And some of those things you should.” 

“And they claim we Jedi have cornered the market on enigmatic poodoo,” Corran drawled. 

“I’m sorry, I’m just trying to figure out how tell you this.” Wedge ran his fingers through his hair. 

Corran straightened in his chair, obviously concerned by his former commander’s display of nerves. “What’s wrong?” 

“There,” Wedge started and then balled his hands and tried again. “I had a long and successful career as a solider and I’m proud of my record and what we accomplished. I firmly believe what we did saved lives and helped people live peaceful lives, no matter how much the situations our children face today mirror those we faced in the past. To accomplish that peace, we all did things and saw things that keep us up a night, we wouldn’t be human if it didn’t, and that was a burden I was willing to accept. I have very few regrets.” 

Wedge looked up from his balled fists. The Corran of the past, young and ready to dive into the next fight, would have asked where Wedge was going with this. The Corran of the present merely waited, showing every sign that his was listening intently. With his next words, Wedge meet Corran’s steady gaze. “One of those regrets that tear my guts out every time I think of it was never telling you that you had another son.” 

The air in the garden may have been cool and pleasant but the tension between the two men was palpable. Eventually, Corran broke the silence. “I wasn’t aware that Mirax had a miscarriage. I suppose it makes sense that she’d come to you in her grief and I sense your sincerity but I don’t see why you choose this of all times to confide in me.” 

“You’ve been away from Corsec too long,” Wedge jabbed, hoping to open Corran to the truth so he would have to say the painful words. However, when Corran didn’t rise to the bait, he continued on, fists clenched. “Thirty-six odd years ago, I was forced to keep what was neither the first of such secrets nor the last but certainly one of the most painful. On a forgotten little fog ball named Talasea, an Imperial assignation squad attacked the newly formed Rogue Squadron their bunks. After a quite battle in the mists, the Rogues bravely managed to drive off their Imperial foe, but suffered the loss of all six security sentries. Four Rogues were seriously wounded.” 

At this Corran shook his head. “No, Lujayne died.” The steel in his expression was unmistakable. “I would accuse you of getting old Wedge, but you and I know that you’d never forget something like that.” 

Wedge ignored his former pilot. “The four injured Rogues were sent to the medical frigate _Reprieve_ for treatment. Lieutenant Corran Horn suffered a mitigated blaster bolt to the chest, treatable by bacta immersion. Flight Officer Gavin Darklight suffered an unmitigated blaster bolt to the chest, fortunately treatable by bacta.” The facts and figures were familiar and soothing to Wedge. He allowed them to continue to at a constant pace, forcing himself to see only the words, not their meanings. “Flight Officer Andoorni Hui suffered two blaster bolts to the abdomen, treatable by a combination of bacta and rest. Flight Officer Lujayne Forge, suffered two blaster bolts to the lower back, treatable by bacta, extensive surgery, and biomechanics.” Wedge stopped to clear his throat. 

“She’s dead,” Corran stated, his green eyes as cold as his expression. 

“Believed to be dead on arrival. During our frantic evacuation to the _Reprieve_ , the medtechs were able to stabilize her and promptly placed her into stasis, knowing that even the _Reprieve_ did not have surgeons skilled enough to deal with her situation. From there she was transferred to Chandrilla on the first courier out. Admiral Ackbar informed me just before she departed.”

“She’s dead, I felt it!”

“No Corran,” Wedge said, his voice betraying all of his sixty years. “You felt something you believed to be her death through a primitive connection to the Force. You may have felt her danger, her pain, or even the death of one of the guards. Perhaps you felt the severing of your connection when she was placed in stasis. I can’t begin to guess, but I know that Lujayne Forge survived the Battle of Talasea, though she still bears the scars.” 

Corran stood and began to pace behind his chair. His gate was fluid and as he spoke, it appeared his mind had cleared as well. “The _Reprieve_ was a full medical frigate, capable of handling even the most grievous war injuries. What injury could she have possibly sustained that would cause the medtechs to risk stasis?” 

Watching his friend’s gate, Wedge answered, “The injury was one not commonly seen on a battlefield. The bolts burned through three inches of her spinal column, a portion of her large intestine, and seared the wall of her womb.” He closed his eyes as he slumped backward in his chair. “I spoke with the medtechs, after. She was awake when they found her, drenched in her own blood and filth. Screaming in pain she couldn’t even feel and sobbing for them to save her baby. They obeyed her wishes.” 

“Her baby,” Corran repeated. “Her baby and now mine, too? This is the secret you’ve come to share, the confession you’ve come to seek punishment for? I am to believe that two well-respected members of Command conspired to hide the survival of moderately talented pilot and her child?” 

“It was my idea,” Wedge whispered. “Admiral Ackbar agreed. I swore the medtechs to secrecy and requested an additional casket be present at the memorial service. I’m the one that destroyed Gavin’s innocence and deprived you of your son.” 

“What gave you the right to decide that Lujayne would be better off dead to us?” Corran bit out. “The great Wedge Antilles speaks and so it is done? Do you know how much loosing her, the heart of our squadron, hurt? Did you know that after you left our room, Gavin cried himself to sleep only to wake from a nightmare every damn night that week?” 

Wedge forced his hands to un-knot. His voice remained soft, nearly inaudible. “To have a colleague, a friend, taken out like that, in the dead of the night instead of on the frontlines, to be sentenced not to a tragic death but to an even more tragic life, unable to fly, always in pain. I’ve seen what death can do to a squadron. I knew how to handle it; I’d done it so many times before. But that fear of not knowing, and the distraction of not being able to help, not to mention the mindless speculation of who was the expectant father would only serve to get more pilots killed, to leave more civilians to Isard’s tender mercies. I did it to save lives.” He looked down at the ring on his hand. “But that is no excuse to deprive a father of his child. I know that now.”

“To save lives? You _kill_ one of your subordinates, a kindhearted girl who never did anything more than try to prove that she was worth something, for the good of the squadron? We trusted you never to spend our lives needlessly when we followed your orders. Tell me, how many others on the Rogue Squadron Roll of the Dead were forced into early retirement because you thought it would _save lives_?”

Wedge stood, his dark granite eyes meeting Corran’s burning green ones. “Stop it. You do not want to go down this road with me.” 

In the silence, the sounds of young Jedi bustling off to chores or lessons drifted to the garden from the thick hallways beyond the doors. Finally, Corran spoke. “Why now?” 

Wedge released his breath slowly, attempting to slow his pounding heart. “If Cilghal suspects that the problem with Valin and Jysella is genetic, someone will need to alert Lujayne. Your son was killed at the Battle of Ithor, infantry, but not before he could start of a family of his own. I don’t know all the details, but you may have grandchildren at risk of having the same problem.” 

Corran nodded, deliberately focusing his attention on a small futter-wi perched on the nearest bush. “I trust you can find your own way out Mr. Antilles?” 

Wedge took his leave without another word, leaving Corran to stare at the futter-wi, silent and alone. 


	3. Chapter Two - Old Memories

Chapter Two – Old Memories

There is no anger, there is peace. The old Jedi axiom, as told to him many years ago in a moonlit grotto, echoed through Corran’s mind but his heart still pounded with fury. Although he had struggled to find the serenity with the Force that the other students had found with ease, his struggle then was nothing compared to what he felt now. Then, he had been worried for his wife, a captive of an enemy who intended her no harm. He had questioned his own linage, torn between the grandfather he had loved and the grandfather he had never known, one CorSec, the other Jedi. Now he discovered that he had his own grandchild, one he hoped wouldn’t face the same emotional turmoil.

A warm, humid blast of air hit Corran’s face as he exited the Temple’s rear entrance and ducked into the bustling pedestrian traffic of Coruscant’s government district. Ducking past a pair of holo reporters, he was glad that he still wore his old day uniform that he had donned for this morning’s short training flight. In times of stress, Corran preferred to take a brisk walk while he sorted things out and the last thing he wanted was to be followed by reporters desperate for a sound bite from the bereaved Master Horn. He let his feet and gut lead him, barely giving his surroundings any notice as thoughts of Wedge’s treachery and the son he never knew roiled through his brain. 

When Corran’s life with Corsec had fallen apart, sending him and his friends into exile worlds apart and killing his mentor, Corran had struggled to find his path. After saving the life of a young Rebel girl, Corran had found his place with Rogue Squadron and had found a mentor in the group’s leader, Commander Wedge Antilles. Over the years, Corran had learned to trust the man implicitly. He had lost count of the times he had risked his life at Wedge’s request, knowing the man would do his best for the Rebellion and for his pilots. And now Wedge had revealed that he had covered up the fact that Lujayne Forge had not died at all, but in fact had lived to give birth to his son. 

Lujyane Forge. Corran stopped short. She was alive. Shaking his head, he continued his walk, turning the corner. He couldn’t cope with that idea at the moment, there was too much to think about. 

It wasn’t the lie that bothered Corran so much; Wedge had lied to him before. As much as both of them hated to admit it, there was sometimes when lying was a necessary part of command and Wedge tended to excel at it when it came to protecting his friends. What bothered Corran the most was to think that Wedge may not always have had acted in his best interests. It was so very tempting to revisit ever order, ever request to see if there had been some agenda hidden there, floating so innocuously under the surface of that friendly face that Corran had never noticed. He could hear the seductive lure calling, if Wedge had lied to him, who else? 

But no, that road was shrouded with darkness. Corran slowed his pace, allowing himself to take a deep breath. As he let it out, he could feel the Force flow in, a cool, whispering breeze that cut through his stifling thoughts. Corran needed to focus on the immediate threat: the psychosis that appeared to be targeting the Horn bloodline. 

“Which one is yours?” a light female voice interrupted Corran’s thoughts. He blinked and found himself gazing at a small, enclosed greenspace where dozens of children ran, climbed, and shrieked as they played among the colorful plastisteel structures. Very dark haired, very pregnant young woman stood on his left, watching a small child playing in the grass near the window. 

Corran cleared his throat. “None, actually. I’m afraid my two outgrew the climber long ago. Longer, to hear them tell it.” 

The woman chuckled. “Yes, they do grow up fast, don’t they?” She patted her stomach. “That’s why I’m so excited about this one. It’ll be nice to have a baby in the home again.” 

Corran nodded absently. As he watched the children play, he swore he could make out a familiar dark haired youth darting between two Duros. No, it wasn’t Valin. Nor was the young girl hanging upside down from a bar, her hair cascading below her, Jysella. His children were grown. And ill. Trapped in carbonite. Perhaps forever. 

Yet he had another child now, didn’t he? The child carried by Lujayne all those years ago may have died during the war as Wedge had claimed, but there was still a chance that their were other little ones out there that carried his bloodline, that he was responsible for. Could he really allow them never to know their heritage? How much had he longed to meet his real grandfather, no matter how well Rostek had filled the role? And could he deny that it really would be nice to have young ones running around again, to have that second chance at a future? 

He watched the children play for a few minutes more and then nodded his goodbye to the young woman and left. 

He needed to talk with Mirax. 


	4. Chapter Three - Old Loves

Chapter Three - Old Loves

The fading red glow sunset left part of her heart-shaped face in shadow, emphasizing the lines that now etched the face that had seemed so young just a few months ago. While her eyes were downcast and her arms hugged herself tightly, her cheeks remained dry. Finally, after long minutes of silence, she lifted her head. “So what now?” Mirax asked. Her voice was flat, devoid of the anger, the betrayal, the hurt, the jealousy, or the fear that Corran knew she must be feeling. He almost wished she had yelled. He knew how to respond when she yelled. Now, he simply felt adrift without an anchor to guide him. 

“What do you think I should do?” Corran gently asked his wife. 

She gave a sad little laugh. “Corran, you and I know both know you made that decision the moment you heard that there might be a grandchild without a grandfather out there.” 

“I’m not giving up and Jysella and Valin.” 

“I know.” 

“It’s just if there’s a chance…” 

“I know.” Mirax sighed, and turned to face the window, watching as the light receded from Coruscant. “You’ll need to hurry. With Luke gone, your presence at the Council meetings will be missed.” 

“I should be back shortly. They’ll understand.” Corran hesitated, and then reached for her arm. “Mirax, I…”

She shrugged away from his touch, not turning to look at him. “Go.” 

He reluctantly left her to gaze out the window at the ever-darkening sky as he tossed a few items into the small shapeless bag that he had kept packed for ready travel ever since he had fled from his home system all those years ago. When he was finished, he halfheartedly slapped the door release to leave the small apartment that had served as a temporary home these past few months. As he stepped out the door, he heard a voice call out to him from the bedroom. “When you get back, you’re sleeping on the couch.” 

Corran left, a small, sad smile on his face that fortified him as the weight of his history descended onto his shoulders. 

***

Kessel had never been one of Corran’s favorite places. He had sent many criminals to the cold, nearly airless ball over his career with Corsec and had even freed a few during his time in the Rebellion. Even now, decades after the rule of prison administrator Moruth Doole, the world was no more welcoming than it had been then. While Calrissian had done his best to keep the atmosphere generators running and minimize the Imperial prison world motif, Kessel was still cold with the biting ashen smell of burnt rock. Even in the small vehicle hanger, a thin film of frost slicked the rungs of the ladder a young Devaronian tech had mounted against Corran’s X-wing. 

Corran surveyed the small hanger as he climbed down from his fighter. A pile of rubble in the corner and vehicles in various states of repair were the most obvious signs of Kessel’s recent planet quake woes. A more subtle sign was the drawn faces of the techs who passed; any relief at the cessation of the quakes was overshadowed by thoughts of what it meant for the future production of the spice mines. Spying a small group of techs huddled around a caff machine, Corran tossed his helmet into his X-wing and made his way across the hanger. “Hello, any of you know where I can find Forge?” Corran called out to the group as he approached. 

“Which one?” A burly tech snorted. “There’s a whole clan here.” 

A shorter tech, cup of caff in hand, motioned to a young man who was trying to rub off a lube stain that spread across his face but the dirty battered rag was only making things worse. “If you’re going to make off with one of them, take Drathan here. Boy’s going to be a starfighter pilot if he can ever figure out which side of the lube rag is up.” The other techs laughed as the boy’s face reddened under the dark smudges of lube. 

“Actually, I’m looking for Lujayne,” Corran replied. Abruptly, the techs quieted and glanced at each other warily. Corran could feel their sudden hostility thrumming through the Force as they maintained their silence. 

The youngest, Drathan, however seemed all too eager to help. “She’s over in Tunnel Two, working on one of the hopper cars that got fried. When she’s done, she said she’d let me take one of those yachts that we repaired for a shake down cruise.” He paused a moment to take a breath and then added, “Three rights, a left and straight on. You’ll need a glowstick but no breather.” 

“Thank you,” Corran said with a nod. He left the group and followed the young man’s directions, igniting a glowrod as he reached a section of rough-hewn tunnel no longer lit by malfunctioning glow panels that still smoked with an acrid smell and the occasional shower of sparks. Just as he began to suspect that the young man had somehow managed to pull one over on a Jedi Master, he first heard and then saw a large repulsor hopper brightly lit by portable glowspots. The combination of glowspots and the hopper’s throaty engine had heated this section of tunnel into a stifling oven, an abrupt shock from the earlier cold. 

As Corran circled the hopper, he spied a pair of coverall encased legs sticking out from an access hatch, the rest of the body hidden. A mild curse issued from the hatch just as he heard a metallic clang and watched a hydrospanner tumble to the ground in front of him. Smiling slightly at the Force’s sense of humor, he picked up the hypdrospanner and held it out to the groping hand that had appeared from the hatch. “Need some help?” Corran inquired. 

“Just hand me that spanner and I’ve got it from there,” a muffled, melodious voice echoed from within the hopper. He couldn’t remember the last time he heard that voice. Had it been in the hurried comm traffic as they surveyed Talasea or as they munched on the whatever Emtry had scrounged for dinner that night? Or had her last words to him been in a more breathless voice as they lay together on his bunk? 

He shook off the memories and handed her the hydrospanner. After a barely audible ‘thanks’ the only sounds from inside the hopper were the clinks and snaps of repairs. Heart still pounding and feeling his old impatience rebelling against his more usual serenity, he called out to her again, hoping she’d recognize his voice as he had recognized hers, “You sure you don’t need any help?” 

“I don’t need any help!” came the snapped reply. This time, legs wriggled as she freed her torso from the access hatch, reveling herself at last. 

She was as beautiful as he remembered. 


	5. Chapter Four - New Family

Chapter Four - New Family

Corran drank in the sight of his old friend. Uncomfortable in the heat, she had shrugged out of her coveralls, using the arms to secure them around her waist. Peaking out between the coveralls and her cropped top was a metallic band that encircled her slim waist, obviously a prosthetic of some sort. The hair was as he remembered it, a soft, warm brown like the pelt of a latala, tied back but with wisps sticking to the sweat on her face. Her face hadn’t changed much either; still kind but her deep brown eyes were now lined with pain, and at the moment, fire was burning in their depths. 

“I am perfectly capable of handling a shunt and shot repair by myself, thank you,” Lujayne told him wearily, as if she had had this argument many times. 

Corran’s mind was still processing the fact that Lujayne Forge, the woman who had been the heart of the newly reformed Rogue Squadron, who had captured Corran’s heart for those few short months, was standing before him, healthy and hale. His mouth couldn’t find the words and even that Force had left him to noiseless flap his jaw like an idiot. 

A grease streaked brow rose. “Well, are you going to leave me in peace or not?” 

“Lujayne?” It was the only word he seemed to be able to pronounce. 

She looked him over quizzical and then a sort of slowly rising terror washed over her features, intensifying the lines around her eyes. “Corran…what are you doing here?” she rasped, clearly finding it as hard to speak as he. Then a brief flicker of amusement quirked her lips. “That beard…”

Her words jolted him out of his wordless shock, dredging up memories of Mirax’s first thoughts after he had swooped in to rescue his wife after months of searching for her kidnappers. The beard had been a disguise then, but now it was a part of him. A part Lujayne didn’t know and probably would never come to understand. He cleared his throat. “Wedge told me you had survived. I came as soon as he told me that there might be a chance…” 

“That you had a child?” she finished his sentence in a heavy voice. She turned from him, running her fingers along the hopper’s port access command array. “Danral died years ago, as I’m sure General Antilles told you. He was the one who brought me the news.” 

“I know, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you had to go through that alone and that I never knew…”

“You weren’t supposed to know,” Lujayne said forcefully, turning back to look at him with tear stained cheeks and fire in her eyes. “When I finally woke of from treatment, you had died during the liberation of Coruscant. I spent a lot of time thinking about how I was going to finally get out of that repulsorlift chair and walk and how I was determined to raise my son. And after the reports came in that you had survived and later how you had married Mirax, I was all the more determined to follow through with my plans. I didn’t want to interfere with your life. I didn’t want to become one of those regrets that you always let hang so heavy on your shoulders and which would have crushed me. I’m sorry that you never knew your son, Corran, but I will not apologize for the life we’ve lead away from you. Danral was a good man and his son will be one, too.” 

Corran wanted to argue, to demand that he had every right to know his son and that they would have made something work, but a soothing whisper of the Force, almost like an echo of the presence of his own children, reminded him that there was nothing he could do to change the past. There was, however, an important matter for the future. “I came to speak with you because there have been several young Jedi who have fallen mentally ill. My son, Valin, has it, as does my daughter, Jysella. This, this Force disease, our healer thinks it might be genetic. Wedge and I thought you should know.”

Lujayne’s eyes softened into the kind expression that had been so familiar in the squadron’s times of need. “I’m sorry about your children, Corran. Rhysati mentioned it to me while she was here and we had the med techs check my grandson. So far Drathan has shown no signs of being Force sensitive, like his father.” She smiled softly. “He tends to be flighty, like his mother and his aunt. Lately he’s gotten it into his head that he wants to go to the academy and become a pilot like his grandparents. A visit from General Wedge Antilles certainly didn’t help matters.” 

“What was my son like?” Corran asked softly. 

“He was a good man. His one major flaw was that he always wanted to help, just like his mother. So when that notice went out begging for people to enlist to fight the Vong, he went and got himself killed. Drathan’s mother, she had been one of Danral’s pet projects as well. He had helped her recover from a spice addiction but when Wedge came and told us he had died, she couldn’t handle it. Left me with a four month old for a pile of glit. I don’t blame her, really. She loved him too much. But that’s the key, right Master Horn? To be able to let those your love go when it’s time?” 

Corran nodded. “But letting them go doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like hell.” 

They stood in companionable silence before Corran finally voiced what they both were thinking. “What now?” 

Lujayne smiled. “We do just as any of us here on Kessel do; we take it as we go, one day at time.” She reached for his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. 

Corran returned her squeeze and looked her in the eye. “I love Mirax and I wouldn’t do anything to hurt her or my children for anything in the galaxy but I would like to get to know my grandson and the person you’ve become.” 

“Understood. I wouldn’t have expected anything less of you,” she said with a gentle smile. Then she tugged on his hand, leading him back the way he had come. “The hopper can wait. Have you met Drathan yet? He was probably drooling over your X-wing the moment you landed. I bet he’d love to take on his grandfather in one of those old rusty sims Lando keeps around here for the occasional bet and brag morale events he holds.” 

“As long as his grandmother has thoroughly explained to him the value of having the lowest training scores,” Corran teased, hoping to break the tension in the air just as walking down the cool tunnel had shed the horrible heat of the work area. 

“Well of course,” Lujayne said with a sweet smile, “I told him all about that time his grandfather flew his very best and still came in dead last.” 

They both laughed, hoping it was a sign of things to come. 


	6. Epilogue - New Hopes

Epilogue – New Hopes

Two young faces peered from the burnished bronze of carbonite, forever twisted in terror. He couldn’t help but contrast their still tortured forms with the exuberant young man he had met weeks ago and it only made his heart ache more. He reached out to stroke Valin’s face, but stopped, knowing that the prison had probably rigged the carbonite capsules with some sort of anti-tampering mechanism and triggering it would only take away his already tenuous visitation rights. 

“I met someone a few weeks ago,” Corran said softly, speaking to the children who could no longer hear, see, speak, or live, but they were still his children. Children that could use the comforting voice of their father. “He’s the grandson of an old friend. You’d like him. I hope maybe one day you could consider him a little brother. Then again, if we ever got him and ‘Sella in the same room, the rest of us would never get in a word edgewise.” He cleared his throat. “But he could never replace the two of you. Your mother and I will get you out of here, I promise, even if it means cutting a path through Daala’s troops from here to the _Errant Venture_.” 

“But for now, we’ll do it by the book, for everyone’s sake,” said a tired but familiar voice from behind him. “But the moment those that shutta Daala shows any intention of hurting you or leaving you in those carbonite crates to rot I will personally gut her.” 

Corran raised his arm and Mirax slid under it, clinging tightly to his side. “I’ll hold her down while you carve.” 

“You’ve got a deal Corsec.” They stayed in each other’s arms, drawing on each other’s strength as they gazed at their children. Finally, Mirax said, “Did you inform Lujayne that it’s not genetic?” 

“I did,” Corran replied cautiously. They hadn’t spoken much about his trip to Kessel. “She was relieved but sent her regrets that it’s still spreading.” 

“When this is all over,” Mirax said as Corran felt his tunic dampen with her tears, “we should get my father to throw a big party on the _Errant Venture_ and we’ll invite Wedge and Iella and the girls, and Winter and Tycho, and Lujayne and Inyri and Drathan, and all of Valin and Jysella’s friends, and Ooryl, and Nawara and Rhysati, and Jaina and Jag, and whoever the hell also wants to come and we’ll have this big massive family reunion. And we’ll get little flimsiplast models of Daala and Atar and that kriffing holojock and stuff them full of candy for the kids to beat on.” 

Corran hugged Mirax harder. “That sounds like one hell of a party. We’d best get Booster to start procuring the Whyren’s now.” 

They would fight this disease and they would win. Together. As a family. 


End file.
